


Stay Awake

by OmniscientPhoenix



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Addiction recovery, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, CSA Survivor, Domestic Avengers, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Past Underage, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psuedo-Canon Compliant, Rape Recovery, Revenge, Slut Shaming, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, Victim Blaming, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-09 17:59:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16454717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmniscientPhoenix/pseuds/OmniscientPhoenix
Summary: Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist.  Ask any stranger walking down Broadway, the entire world knows anything and everything about the very public life of one Anthony Edward Stark.Contrary to popular belief there are some things about Tony Stark no one knows. There are some things no one should ever know, not ever.When Tony Stark attends a gala without his boyfriend Steve Rogers or the rest of the Avengers he thinks the worst that can happen is a boring conversation with Howard the investment banker.  He was very, very wrong about that.





	Stay Awake

Tony never intends to live in the Tower.

Sure, New York is fine and Pepper loves dragging him to Broadway on Friday nights, but Malibu has been his home for a very long time. He’d chosen the sunny California city as the new headquarters of Stark Industries three weeks after his parents died and he couldn’t stand the suffocating emptiness of the Stark Mansion a second longer. Instead he founded a new headquarters in the sun and built his dream home into the side of cliff where he could hear waves breaking on the rocks below as he stared up at his ceiling night after sleepless night. Stark Tower was beautiful, sleek and modern, everything he’d wanted it to be, but nothing could compare to the comfort and safety of his workshop, his bots flitting around him as he revolutionized the future of technology. Or, more accurately, invented a sentient toaster because he’d maybe dranken a little too much of his emergency workshop scotch. Regardless, Malibu was _home_ , free from all the negative connotations tangled up with New York from his childhood and literal wormholes.

He doesn’t complain when the Mandarin blows his home right off that cliff, tons of concrete crushing him under the very same waves that have been keeping him voiceless company for two decades. He doesn’t complain when he digs the shattered remains of his bots out of the rubble of his workshop and loads them onto a trailer to haul them back to New York. He doesn’t complain, because he’s a billionaire and he has a perfectly good penthouse sitting unused. A house shouldn’t be a big deal when you admittedly sometimes forget exactly how many vacation homes you’ve purchased on a drunken whim. So he doesn’t complain; but it hurts. He knows he tempted the Mandarin in that moment of anger, but it hurts when that house is crumbling into the ocean and the only place he’s ever felt at home and _safe_ is gone.

It certainly doesn’t help when Pepper turns down his offer to move to New York with him with a sad smile. He understands, when she’s crying and telling him it’s too much and she can’t handle the nightmares and knowing the next time he puts that suit on he might never come back. He’s expecting it when she sadly tells him she can’t make him choose between being a superhero and being _hers_ , but she can’t handle loving him knowing she might have to bury him at any moment. He smiles softly, he holds her as she cries and he tells her he understands. Because he does. He understands the hurt and pain and horror she’s been through, because of him, Obadiah and Hammer and Killian, all his fault, and he can’t believe he was selfish enough to put her in harm’s way over and over again until she was shaking with nightmares next to him as he stared sleeplessly at the ceiling to avoid his own trauma stained dreams. He understands, so he presses a soft kiss to her forehead and whispers platitudes and reassurances, _C’mon Pep I can’t tie my shoes without you remember. You’ll always be my best friend, even after all this._

So after the Mandarin and the surgery and digging his bots out of the rubble of his home, he arrives in New York, alone. It’s only then that he finally manages to get caught up with the news and he stands in still horror when he watches the footage of the Helicarrier plunging into the Potomac. He gives Steve a call, only to informed by a kind nurse that he’s in the hospital, that he’s stable and she’ll have the super soldier give him a call when he’s conscious. Natasha, Clint, Steve--all SHIELD agents--and he feels cool dread pool in his stomach as he hopes that they all made it safely off that flying deathtrap before it plunged into the river. Instead of giving into the fluttering panic rushing through his veins, he goes to the workshop.

“Hey Jarvis. Pull up the blueprints for floors 56 through 62. And find a good contractor. I know some people that are going to need a guest room for a while.”

**************

The rest of the team starts filtering into Avengers Tower a month after SHIELD falls. Clint shows up first, which surprises Tony initially, but as he gets to know the archer better he’s simply surprised he hadn’t found the assassin snuggled up in the Tower vents with all Tony’s blankets one day.

In the moment however, it’s rather disconcerting finding Hawkeye drunk on his pantry floor at three a.m. on a Tuesday. He hears noise in the kitchen, and goes to investigate, snatching up a rolling pin on the way. While, he's more than confident JARVIS would alert him to an intruder, he’s been kidnapped just an  _obscene_ amount at this point. And as much as Tony Stark enjoys some light bondage and spanking, he is considerably less into it when it's terrorists and criminals wielding the zip-ties. Not that he would ever use zip-ties on someone--he’s not a sadist--no, he owns a lovely collection of fuzzy handcuffs and silk ties for that purpose, thank you very much.

He makes his way to the cracked pantry door, soft light filtering into the dark room, as he follows the sounds of soft moaning. When he pushes the door open he fully expects to find some HYDRA goon waiting to stab him should he decide he wants a late night snack.

Instead, a very drunk Clint sprawls on the floor covered in about fifty shiny foil packets.

And while he isn’t going to judge the drunkenness or the late hour--he is many, many things but he tries his best not to be damn hypocrite--he sure as hell wants to know why one of the world’s top assassins is moaning sadly on his pantry floor buried in a pile of unwrapped PopTarts.

The engineer leans a hip against the doorframe, folds his arms across his chest, and smirks.

“Okay, first off, what are you doing here. Secondly, and  _most_ importantly, why the fuck are you desecrating my PopTarts in my own goddamn house?” Honestly, he's primarily amused.  He hasn’t seen anyone in the last couple days so a little company isn’t exactly unwelcome.  On the other hand, he can’t quite fathom why Clint has decided to a) break into his house and b) rip open every box of PopTarts and then proceed to bury himself in them.

Clint lifts his head slightly, to shoot him a withering glare before he answers.

“I’m not _desecrating_ your PopTarts, Stark. These are unholy abominations under God. Cherry, man, seriously? You have seven boxes of PopTarts and they’re all the same terrible flavor. Desecrating,” he scoffs. “I could use these as the Eucharist for a Satanic first communion and they’d still be just as abominable as when I started.”

“I wasn’t aware that Satanists practice Holy Communion.”

“Yeah, well they do. And, instead, of those ass crackers the Catholics use they just raid your pantry for seven fucking boxes of the same disgusting fucking flavor.”

“Okay, let’s get off your illogical hatred for the _best_ PopTart flavor for just a second and try and get an explanation as to what you’re doing here drunk at three a.m. on a Tuesday, Katniss?”

“Nick Fury gave me a code,” he slurs, “he said you had cool rooms and shit for the Avengers , sooo-,” he shrugs resting his head against the floor again, “I’m here to eat your PopTarts.”

“And you couldn’t have, I don’t know, waited until the rest of the world was awake to announce you’re my new roommate?”

Clint groans on the floor. “I wanted PopTarts, now,” he whines.

“And I am the _only_ person or store or whatever in the entirety of New York who has PopTarts for you to desecrate and then _not_ eat. Which is just rude and weirdly fucking insulting by the way?” Tony manages to get the words out around the smirk growing on his face.

The archer sighs softly and brings both hands to his face to scrub at it. “My girlfriend kicked me out and Nat’s gone on some mission and I left my wallet back at her apartment and SHIELD’s gone so I’m kind of out of a job and--” his voice sounds a little broken when he speaks again and Tony can swear he hears a hint of waterlogged tears threatening to overcome his teammate’s slur. “I can go if you want. I just-” his voice cracks a bit, “I know it’s stupid to be upset over some _girl_ , with all the shit we do and everything. But, I don’t know, man. I really, really liked her and I thought maybe she could actually handle, well, me and all the shit I do, _we_ do, and I guess she really couldn’t. Or maybe she could handle the Avengers and she just couldn’t handle _me_ , which I get, I’m” he gestures at himself and makes a face eyes squeezed shut. He sighs and cuts off.

Whereas, about thirty seconds before he was disgruntled about finding a drunk archer on his floor, now his heart floods with some warm, sticky sensation he would almost dub affection if that weren’t so irrevocably out of his emotional repertoire. As it is, he feels himself soften to the archer and he walks over to take a spot on the floor next to the drunk man.

“What’re you doing?” Clint asks sleepily, cracking his eyes to shoot Tony a suspicious glare.

“Making sure you don’t choke to death on your own vomit, dumbass.”

The archer cracks his eyes open wider than that. “Even though I desecrated your PopTarts?” he sounds sad as he slurs out the question, as if he’d thought Tony was only approaching to throw him out the door.

“Yes, I will ever so kindly ensure you don’t die on my pantry floor even if you desecrate every last goddamn pastry in this entire tower,” Tony chuckles. “But you might want to go to your bedroom on your floor so you can sleep all this,” he gestures vaguely to Clint, “off.”

When he looks back at the man, he looks a bit shocked. “So I can, like, stay here?” he sounds bewildered as if he fully expected Tony to send his ass packing.

“Well this _is_ Avengers tower. And you are an Avenger. For some reason, I honestly cannot fathom," the archer grumbles at that, but Tony shushes him with a comforting pat to his head.  "But you do have a whole floor that I’m never going to use because I pretty much exclusively inhabit the workshop and the kitchen soo-” he trails off as the other man stares. “Yeah, man. You can stay if you want to. It gets kinda-,” he sighs looking for the right way to phrase it, one that’s slightly less pathetic. He pauses a second and bites the bullet. “Lonely. It gets lonely what with Pepper gone for SI and Happy’s down in Malibu being her forehead of security and Rhodey’s always in some desert somewhere hunting terrorists or whatever so,” he pauses, clears his throat a bit. “Yeah, I’d like it if you stuck around a while.” There’s an awkward pause that’s broken when Clint throws his arms around his neck, sloppy and reeking of booze. The genius stiffens for a second, he doesn’t get touched like this very often but he gingerly raises his arms to wrap them around his teammate.

“Thanks, Tony. That really means,” Hawkeye trails off and clutches tighter. “Just thanks. Thank you.” The other man pulls back a little so he look him in the face and confusion and that warm, gooey feeling from Tony’s gut earlier is echoed back in the blonde’s face. “They were wrong about you, you know.” He says this softly, almost to himself, leaning back on his heels unsteadily and Tony is way too sober to have a heart to heart with a drunk off his ass assassin, but he can’t help voicing the question.

“Wrong about what?”

Clint stares at him like he hadn’t meant for the billionaire to hear that and shrugs casting his face to the floor, pink blush creeping up his neck in the dim light of the pantry.

“Everything. You’re supposed to be, I don’t know-,” he rubs at his neck, “like, a total fucking asshole or whatever.”

Tony can’t help the loud bark of laughter that escapes his throat as the archer has the decency to look a bit ashamed of the words that just left his mouth.

“Well, bud, I can assure you that with time you will realize that I am, just about, the biggest dick on the entire planet and most certainly an asshole. Just wait for the illusion to fade.”

Clint laughs back and Tony smiles at the sound--pure and clear, it doesn’t sound tainted by restrained tears anymore. “How about we get you to bed, Barton. And I’ll see if I can get some poor Postmate to bring you some PopTarts at ass o’clock on a Tuesday.”

**************

Only a week later he stumbles into the living room still rubbing sleep out of his eyes and discovers Clint and Natasha snuggled up on the couch watching cartoons eating cereal in their pajamas.

“Oh great. Is this like some new torture method Fury’s working on? Every week a new SHIELD agent shows up to get Fruit Loops in my couch.”

“Oh shut up, Stark,” Clint turns and grins around a mouthful of cereal. “You know you love me.”

“If love is suddenly a pseudonym for _I felt bad for this guy so I gave him a room for a night and now he won’t fucking leave no matter how many times I have JARVIS infect his computer with foot fetish porn_ , then yes Barton. You are the love of my life.”

Natasha snorts, eyes fixed on the TV, and Clint clutches a hand to his chest.

“Oh darling. Why didn’t you tell me how you felt. You give the warm fuzzies in all my favorite places.”

Nat does him the favor of stomping on the archer’s foot so he doesn’t have to cross the room to do it himself. Clint yelps and gives her the expression of a kicked puppy.

“ _She_ can stay as long as she wants,” Tony chuckles making his way to the kitchen to brew his first pot of coffee. “I’m not too sure about you, birdbrain.” He’s pleasantly surprised to find a fresh, steaming pot already brewed with his favorite mug waiting next to it. He pours a cup black, spoons in what is probably an unhealthy amount of sugar and makes his way back over to the couch to join the two super spies. “Thanks for the coffee whoever.”

“Your welcome,” Barton replies. “Are you sure you aren’t just totally besotted with me? Cause I make you coffee and gift you my wonderful company every day and pet your robots for you. I’m like perfect for you.”

Tony rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee and Nat laughs. “Jesus, Clint, was Laura so bad you’re trying to get into Stark’s pants now?”

The engineer shrugs as the archer gives him a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. “What can I say Romanoff everybody wants a piece of this.” She scoffs at him as Clint leans over and mock-whispers in her ear.

“I never knew it until I met Stark here but in the last seven days I have discovered that apparently I’m a gold-digger and will flatter this man until he agrees to a) let me borrow one of his ludicrously expensive cars or b) makes me new things I can make explode on the bad guys.”

Tony responds with a mock offended face, “Oh, god Barton I never knew you were just using me for my money and sick SHIELD prototypes. Except, yeah, you showed up one night because you were too broke for a three-dollar box of PopTarts and ended up never leaving because you decided you wanted to make JARVIS sneak all your snacks onto my grocery list. So, yes, Merida I realize that you are a terrible, terrible platonic gold-digger, who wants to eat me out of penthouse and home. Who then invited over another couch-surfer secret spy friend over for a super secret spy sleepover, so they could eat all my food again.”

Clint tries to keep up the pretense of being mock offended, until he gives up and smirks. “Well, as long as you’re aware I am a gold-digger, by willingly living with me, you have now absolved me of any blame for strange charges on your credit card,” he sets his cereal bowl down to shrug and Tony looks up to yell at the ceiling.

“Hey JARVIS, buddy?”

“Yes, sir,” the smooth British accent of the AI floods the room.

“Could you please block charges for any Amazon orders Clint made on my account in say oh, the last three days?” He turns and sticks his tongue out at the archer who simply looks horrified, and Natasha shakes with silent laughter.

“I take everything I said back, Stark. I can’t believe you would take away my Amazon, man. That’s, just, inhumane.”

Tony doesn’t respond, just gives him a winning smile and raises his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry birdbrain, you forced my hand. You keep buying My Little Pony episodes on my account and it’s really fucking up my recommendations list,” he clasps a hand to his heart and continues earnestly, “I am a man of science and you are going to make their sad little algorithms explode if you keep giving it whiplash by buying children’s shows and explosive ammunition in the same purchase,” he pauses for a second and puts a finger to his trademark goatee. “Actually, never mind Clint, I am almost certain that means you are, in fact, a serial killer and I should definitely never let you buy anything under my name ever again because I do not want that evidence being traced back to me.”

The archer has enough decency to look mildly shamefaced and colors pink with an offended blush. “Don’t criticize my taste in television, Stark. I know your vents. I will learn all the weird Tony Stark things you do locked up in your mad scientist lab with your robots and blackmail you for Chinese food and cool toys.”

Natasha smirks and leans over to Stark before stage whispering in his ear, “If you make me a new suit and show me my my floor I’ll take him out,” she turns to wink at Clint who glares and smacks her in the arm. The redhead just laughs and smacks him back.

The engineer smiles around his coffee cup in the warm light streaming through the windows. “Deal, Widow. Beat up Robin Hood for me if he tries to buy My Little Pony on my account again and I will show you to your floor.”

“I fail to see how I’m the gold-digger here and she’s not,” Clint pipes in.

Tony simply raises an eyebrow at him, “Because she is useful. You are a grown man who eats Lucky Charms on my couch in the middle of the day.”

Natasha smirks, “I think he’s onto you, Barton.” She then turns a more sincere smile towards Stark. “So boss, what’s this Barton tells me about a private gym on my floor.”

Tony can’t help but launch into a description of all the cool tricks and toys he’s hidden away on her and Hawkeye’s floors and eventually just tells her he’ll give her the tour himself. Just as he’s about to drag her down to her quarters, his phone rings and he plucks his phone out of his pocket to frown.

“Hello,” he answers and then grimaces, “What _kind_ of fungus exactly?” He furrows his brow as he listens to the person on the other end and his face twists in alarm. “What do you mean he’s _blue_ now-- Wait, no, Jesus Christ do not do that!” He stands up from the couch, running a hand through his hair he strides briskly towards the elevator. He’s waving his free hand around as he listens to the other person ramble and turns back towards the pair on the couch as he pulls his phone away from his ear. “Sorry, guys some intern’s about to start an apocalypse and I only employ morons apparently so I have to go handle it,” he rolls his eyes as if someone’s just broken the toaster, not a caused a potential catastrophe.

The Russian raises her eyebrows at him. “You need any help with that.”

Tony shakes his head at her as he lifts the phone back to his ear. “What did I just say?! That is literally the worst idea I have ever heard-- Oh no, I take it back that one was stupider,” he splutters as he slips into the elevator, “What do I say at every R&D meeting Jerry?! Huh, what do I say every single _goddamn_ time I walk into that med lab of yours? That’s fucking right Jerry! Repeat after me--Stark Industries will not, and _I repeat for emphasis_ , will not be the cause of the fucking zombie apocalypse!! It’s always the goddamn biologists, every single-” The elevator door slides shut behind him and Nat arches a single, perfect eye at the archer next to her.

“Should we do something about that?”

Clint seems to be considering the excitement of fighting zombies versus the relative comfort of Stark’s couch and shrugs.  “It’s fine, right? I mean, as much as I wanna fight zombies, I think he’s got it handled. I pretty sure this happens like every three weeks in the biology department at SI.  Fucking Jerry, man.” He shakes his head sadly and Natasha wonders if she should be alarmed Stark employs an imbecile with access to biotech. Before she can voice her concern, the archer turns back to the TV and makes no move to get up. 

The assassin shoots him a glare, “So, you’re telling me that Stark almost starts a zombie apocalypse on a monthly basis and you’re just going to sit here and eat breakfast?”  

“I’ll call Steve if I get a CNN alert about blue zombies eating Stark employees, but otherwise I am going to continue eating my feelings on this very expensive couch.”  

She rolls her eyes and lets out an annoyed huff as she rises from the couch.  

“ _ Tasha _ ,” Clint whines, “Where are you going?  We were gonna watch cartoons.” He sounds like a six year, giving her puppy eyes and she leans down to flick him in the forehead.  He yelps, shocked at the force behind a single finger and she snickers as she turns in the direction of the elevator. 

“I’m gonna go check out my new digs, Clint.  And get a shower. I bet Stark stocked better toiletries for me because I’m not annoying like you.” 

Hawkeye just scrunches up his nose and sticks out his tongue.  “Whatever, Tasha. I’m Stark’s favorite. You just don’t know it yet.”  

“Neither does he,” she snaps back with a smirk and before Clint can retort she’s stepping into the elevator.  She didn’t get her floor number before Tony ran off to deal with his minor catastrophe, so she stands there awkwardly in the silence. 

“May I assist you, Agent Romanoff.”  A smooth British voice fills the space and she gives a small grateful smile to the camera in the corner. 

“Could you take me to my floor, JARVIS?  Tony never got around to telling me which one was mine.”  

“With pleasure, Ms. Romanoff.”  The elevator’s moving then and when the doors slides open she feels something warm spread through her chest.    `   

Light paints across the dark oak floors of an expansive living room, cream leather couches arranged around an ornate fireplace.  It’s shockingly separate from the modern, sleek decor of the rest of the tower. Steel and marble have been swapped for wood and cream, the only color coming in the sharp palettes of green plants and burgundy of cushy armchairs.  It’s a world removed from the Penthouse only three floors above and Natasha smiles as she runs her fingers over upholstery and leather. It’s  _ homey _ , she supposes, so very separate from the safe houses and SHIELD quarters she’s become accustomed to.  She’ll never know how Tony knew that the modern industrial design put her on edge sometimes, called to mind HYDRA laboratories and operating rooms where she was strapped to the bed.  The warm rich browns and reds call to mind nothing but  _ home  _ and she’s breathlessly grateful for the genius’ intuition for a moment.  

Instead of pondering on the sticky affection pooling in her gut, she returns to exploring the home her teammate has built for her.  

There’s hundreds of books lining tall shelves in the living room and she notes the scrolling Russian of her homeland that curls along the covers.  She smiles at them softly, running a finger lightly over one of the spines. She continues through the rooms finding strategically placed nooks and crannies around the house where she can stash weapons in case of emergencies and there’s a warm, glow spreading through her lungs.  

When she gets to the back of a hallway, she opens a door to find a ballet studio and it steals her breath for a second. It’s beautiful with dark floors, tall mirrors lining one of the walls. She wonders where Stark learned about her ballet, and how he’d guessed it was something she liked to indulge in from time to time.  That wasn’t even mentioning the beautiful old record player in the center of one wall, surrounded by shelves crammed with old records. She used to love listening to records in the Red Room, one of her only luxuries, and she’d never quite quashed her secret fondness. She wonders how Tony could have known. Or maybe he’d just looked at her and guessed and that thought-.  The thought that he’d studied her simply to deduce what would  _ make her happy  _ curls something tight and a bit sad in her chest.  Maybe she’ll investigate if he’s been talking to Clint.  

Regardless, the genius’ kind gestures, hundreds of them embedded in every book and record on the shelves, make her heart skip in her chest.   

She remembers, suddenly and painfully, words she typed out not so long ago and feels a flash of guilt.   _ Tony Stark not recommended.   _

Except looking around that room, she doesn’t see a narcissist.  She doesn’t see selfish. 

She sees a man who took the time to research her, _spy_ on her almost certainly, not to hurt her, but to build her a home.

And it’s been so very long until since she’s had a home.  

She runs her hands along the smooth wood of the floor and lays back, spreading out in the sunlight.

Perhaps, she thinks, she was wrong when she typed that report.

There's a first time for everything

***************

Bruce is apparently the only one of his teammates who has any sense of common decency.

He calls on the plane back from India and asks for a guest room at the tower for a couple of days. So at least Tony’s expecting him when he shows up a month after Clint and Natasha have settled into a routine around the tower. He looks tired and tanned when he self consciously steps out of the elevator into the common room where the archer, the genius, and the assassin are gathered around the coffee table with cards in hand and stacks of colored chips in front of them.

“Bullshit, Stark!” Hawkeye’s yelling as he slaps his cards on the table and Tony’s laughing as he pulls the pool of chips in the center of the table towards himself.

“Sorry, Katniss, I’m not the one who decided to play poker with a literal genius and a master assassin.” Nat’s smirking over at Clint as he pouts.

“I’m a master assassin too,” the archer whines as he shoves at Tony, who dodges him easily and snickers.

“Nah, you’re more like the passable assassin. Junior-Varsity assassin? I don’t know Nat, what kind of man-killer is birdbrain over here?” He’s smirking as he lifts a glass of scotch to his lips and Clint shoves him successfully this time, sloshing alcohol down the billionaire’s grease-stained tee as the dark haired man lets out an indignant squak.

“Quit it. You’re grown men, stop acting like children,” she rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her own scotch. “Though I would say, “last picked for dodgeball assassin.” Tony laughs uproariously as Clint casts hurt, puppy dog eyes in Natasha’s direction.

“ _Natasha_ ,” the ex-SHIELD agent whines, “I told you that in confidence, I don’t go around airing all your traumatic memories to our asshole teammates.”

Bruce stands there awkwardly, folding his arms across his chest and lets out a snort at the impossibly domestic camaraderie he’s witnessing.

Tony looks up at that and his face breaks into a brilliant smile. “Brucie-bear! My science bro, how are you?” He pulls himself up and crosses the floor to pull the nuclear scientist into a bone-crushing hug. Bruce wraps his arms around the man and smiles as Tony pulls back.

“Hey, Tony. Sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting poker night,” he gives an awkward smile over the billionaire’s shoulder to the two assassins sprawled on the floor.

“Nah, man come play with us. We were just about to make Stark buy us Chinese food and then I was gonna laugh at him while Nat stole all his money,” the archer calls from his spot on the rug as he pats the floor next to him. “C’mon, I’ll deal you in and then you can help Nat steal all of Stark’s hard-earned cash.”

Bruce smiles over at the archer as Tony rolls his eyes, before calling back over his shoulder, “It’s not my fault you suck at poker, Barton,” he turns back to Bruce with a twinkle in this eye though. “You really should play, green machine. You’re too nice, which means you’ll be able to bluff Nat out of all her money before she knows what hit her.”

The doctor laughs at that and shakes his head. “Um, it’s been awhile. I really doubt I’ll be taking anyone’s money if you deal me in. I should just get to bed, really,” he shuffles awkwardly and Tony scoffs and grabs his wrist to drag him over to the coffee table.

“Nope, you interrupted poker night so you have to play. Now, come and get drunk and I’ll order a stupid amount of Chinese food while we put Clint to shame.” Tony plops down on the floor dragging Bruce along, and he can only laugh as he feels some of the tension roll out of his shoulders. He’s been gone for three months on a medical aid mission in India and while it’s certainly not the stress of battling aliens and gods, trying to save innocent people from the ravages of disease on the edge of the world with no resources took its toll.

So he’s exhausted, but he lets Tony deal him in and coach him through the finer rules of Texas Hold’em. They eat entirely too much Chinese food and they’re all laughing as they drink and watch Clint make increasingly ludicrous bluffs as he gets drunker and drunker.

When they’re all officially too drunk too even pretend to be playing anymore, Tony orders Jarvis to pull up _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_. They all settle back into the couches and Bruce doesn’t make it to the guest room that night. He falls asleep on Tony’s shoulder as he watches Clint and Nat snuggle up on the couch over. He smiles warm, drunk, happy and wonders if Tony would mind if he stayed a couple days longer than he originally planned.

The next morning a hungover Tony gives the radiation expert a tour of his own personal floor, half of which is taken up by Bruce’s private lab and features a heavily reinforced Hulk-out room. When the engineer’s done showing him all the personalized touches to his living space, he turns and gives Bruce an uncharacteristically shy smile.

“I mean, I know you only said you wanted to hang around for a few days, but you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. I mean Clint and Natasha basically moved in already so-” the billionaire shrugs, “It’d be nice to have someone around who doesn’t look at me like I’m speaking in tongues when I try to explain just how cool my new inertial dampeners are.”

Bruce laughs and looks around the space, the home Tony built with him in mind, and he smiles over at his friend.

“Yeah, I could stick around for a bit.”

The engineer beams and throws an arm around his shoulder.

“So, Science Bro. You wanna see some truly sick inertial dampeners.”

He moves in officially a couple days later and he doesn’t miss the smile Tony gives him as he helps pile boxes into the elevator.

**************

Tony tries not to be offended when Thor shows up before Steve does.

He gets it, he’s talked on the phone to Steve once or twice after the whole SHIELD business, knows he’s out there searching for his old friend. But, he certainly didn’t expect a literal alien god to show up asking for a room before the super soldier did.

That’s not to say he’s not happy to see Thor when he shows up six weeks after their poker game with Bruce. They’re all gathered in the common room; it’s a lazy night, there honestly hasn’t been enough high-level threats to assemble the team in two whole months and, in that time, they’ve settled into a routine. Most nights, they eat dinner together before settling into the common room to watch a movie or play cards. There’s Movie Night and Poker Night every week and Tony’s honestly considering breaking out some of his old Dungeons and Dragons books because he can only clean Clint out so many times before he genuinely starts to feel bad.

This night though, there’s no team-mandated game or threat. It occurs to Tony vaguely as he glances up from his tablet that it’s almost a domestic scene. Natasha curls into Clint’s side, reading a book with Russian scrawling over the cover as the archer plays a videogame on the TV. She glances up occasionally to give him a fond smile and snickers softly every time he dies horribly in the nuclear wasteland on the television. Bruce sits on the floor, hunched over the coffee table covered in papers and charts as he lets out an annoyed huff every once in a while before scratching something out. Tony smiles at the scene, his friends all gathered around him and he has a moment to enjoy the soft warmth that blossoms in his chest.

Then the building lets out a tremendous shake as the lights flicker ominously around them. All of them are on their feet in an instant and there’s a knife in Natasha’s hand that he doesn’t even bother to question.

“JARVIS? What’s going on?” he asks, tamping down the anxiety in his voice.

The AI doesn’t reply immediately. “I am… unsure, sir. It seems to be a localized meteorological event, but I’m finding no reports of it throughout the city.”

The AI’s right, rain patters against the windows now and Tony can’t choke back the laughter that bursts from his chest. Clint and Natasha both shoot him confused glares, but Bruce seems to get it because he gives him a wry grin.

Tony just shakes his head at them and cracks a smile as the elevator slides open to reveal a soaking wet Thor, Mjolnir in hand.

“Friends! Shield brothers!” he booms as he strides across the floor to Tony, dropping his hammer to the floor so he can scoop the engineer up in a vice-tight hug.

“Whoa there, big guy!” he laughs, grimacing a bit at the soaking wet clothes wetting his front. Thor gently sets him back on his feet, before pulling back to give the engineer a wide, toothy smile. “What are you doing here, buddy? I thought you were guarding Loki back in Asgard.”

Tony doesn’t miss the way Thor’s face falls at the mention of his brother.

“I was. Unfortunately, Loki perished protecting our realm.”

The room’s awkwardly silent at that. They’d been fighting off the trickster god’s alien invasion just a few months ago after all. He knows for a fact that Clint’s certainly not a big fan. But, Tony can be the better man here; after Obadiah he knows what it’s like to mourn for someone who’s betrayed you. So Tony’s the one who breaks the silence, bringing a comforting hand to Thor’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Thor.” The Asgardian nods solemnly at that, his eyes grateful for Tony’s comfort even though the genius can make out the dark haze of grief in his expression.

“Thank you, friend Anthony. I know Loki has wreaked much chaos in your realm. It is kind of you to offer your condolences.”

Tony just shrugs. “Hey, man, I mean it. Loki was a bag of cats when I met him, but I bet if I met him on a day when he wasn’t trying to invade my planet we probably would’ve gotten along. We would’ve pranked the shit out of Clint, you know.”

The sadness eases somewhat from the larger man’s expression as he lets out a booming laugh. “I agree, Stark. It is a shame you had to meet after he fell under Thanos’ thrall. I believe, in a another life, you two would have made great friends. Though, now that I consider it, I believe you two would have most likely conquered all nine realms on a lark,” Thor’s brow furrows in worry at the thought and Tony chuckles at the man’s alarmed expression.

“You’re not wrong, big guy,” he says as he turns back to where the team’s standing. “So what brings you here, Point Break?”

Thor flushes pink at the question and he rubs a hand through his wet hair. “I was delivering Lady Jane back to her home on Midgard when she…” he pauses trying to find the right words for a moment, “I believe the term your people use is ‘broke up’ with me. I must confess, this development came as a bit of a shock. I have never been ‘dumped’ before, as your interwebs put it. However, Lady Darcy assured me the only remedy for the ending of a courtship is one’s shield brothers and something she calls ‘ice cream.’ So I thought I might inquire as to where I might encounter this magical tonic you call ice cream.”

Tony successfully stifles his laugh at the confession, but Clint’s an asshole because he starts guffawing and snorting behind him. Thankfully, there’s a thump and a crash as the archer lets out an indignant squawk and Tony makes a mental note to buy Natasha something nice. Or maybe he’ll design her some of that hallucinogenic lipstick River Song’s always using on hapless guards in Doctor Who. His mind immediately starts suggesting an entire line of deadly lipsticks and he wonders if maybe that’s something SI should put on the market. Though, he guesses Pepper would probably shoot that down, because of liability or whatever. His mind’s still suggesting chemical formulas in ten shades of fabulous when he turns his attention back to Thor and gives his shoulder another comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry, buddy. You’re having a rough week aren’t you?” He successfully contains his snicker, because, while it is admittedly pretty damn funny that a 1,500 year old god is standing in his living room sulking after his first breakup, he likes to think he knows when to lay off the teasing and just be a good friend. Though, Rhodey would probably disagree with that. In his defense though, the good Colonel thinks he’s found “the one” every six months and it’s kind of hard to muster up too much sympathy when he shows up on Tony’s doorstep puppy-dog eyed and whining about the latest succubus to break his heart.

“Indeed, dear Anthony. This past fortnight has indeed been ‘rough’ as you say,” Thor sighs sadly and Tony feels his smirk drop from his face, to be replaced by a concerned furrow of his brow. The Asgardian genuinely looks like he’s about to cry and while Tony can’t judge (Natasha found him crying over an ASPCA commercial three days ago; _How can you not cry Natasha!? Look at the kittens, they’re so small and saaaaad!_ ), it breaks his heart just a bit to see the usually jovial man looking so downtrodden.

Thor’s staring down at the floor now, eyes blinking rapidly as if he’s fighting back tears and Tony’s the one to pull him into a hug this time. The Asgardian stills for a second and then lifts his arms to pull the engineer tight to his chest. He clings to him for several moments before the god’s breathing eases and when Thor pulls back he looks better.

  
“Thank you, friend Anthony. I do believe Lady Darcy was correct when she told me my shield brothers would lift this weight from my chest.”

Tony gives him a small smile, soft and affectionate, one he usually reserves for Pepper when she brings him his espresso in the morning.

“Glad to help, He-Man. And Darcy’s a smart lady. Nothing like ice cream and friends to cure a broken heart.” He pats an awkward hand on the Asgardian’s shoulder (why is the man so goddamn tall) and pulls away to gesture at his teammate’s behind him. “Come and join us and we can eat ice cream and watch chick flicks.”

Thor smiles widely, the previous sadness draining out of his face. “I know nothing of these so-called ‘flicks of chicks,’ however I trust you greatly in matters of the heart, dear Anthony.”

  
Tony can’t help but laugh at that but he’s not alone, the rest of their friends join in as Thor’s face furrows in confusion.

“I do not understand. What is so humorous about these ‘flicks of chicks?’”

Clint’s howling with laughter and Tony can make out the sound of Natasha snorting in the background.

“Chick flicks, Thor,” he snorts out, chuckling. “C’mon I’ll get some ice cream delivered and we can watch sappy movies all night. Let’s go get you a change of clothes.”

  
He has JARVIS direct Thor to his room (he’s preemptively stocked the closets with some Earth clothes for the god should he ever decide to ditch the alien get up) and orders his AI to compile a list of sappy romances and order a ludicrous amount of ice cream.

The ice cream arrives at the same time Thor does, hair tied back in a loose ponytail, dressed in sweats and a graphic tee with Mjolnir printed on the front. Tony grins at the choice (he’d slipped the shirt in the man’s closet as a joke).

“You look nice, Thor,” Bruce says quietly from the couch and Tony lifts an eyebrow as Thor turns a soft shade of pink. Huh, he thinks. Well that’s not what he expected. Bruce has a crush the god apparently seems to reciprocate. Maybe he’ll rope Nat into playing matchmaker with him.

“Many thanks, fair Bruce. I quite enjoy this tunic friend Anthony has bestowed upon me. A skilled artisan has woven the beloved likeness of dear Mjolnir into my garb!” Thor smiles proudly and Clint snickers as he watches Bruce turn a dark shade of red at the word fair. Oh yeah, Tony thinks, he and Nat are totally going to be playing matchmaker with these two.

  
“Alright boys!” Tony claps his hands together and Natasha clears her throat. Tony rolls his eyes as he corrects himself. “Boys and lady. Stop flirting for just a second so we can pick out a movie.” Bruce turns an even deeper shade of red at that and Tony snickers a bit as Thor gives him a confused look.

They argue for five minutes straight over the best rom-com for a broken heart and eventually come to an agreement when Natasha strangely suggests _Just Like Heaven_. They settle in, covered in fuzzy blankets (sue him; he likes to be warm), Ben  & Jerry’s in hand.  Tony can't help but make note of how Thor chooses the _Hunk a’ Hulk of Burning Fudge_ and Bruce shoots a glare at Clint when he snickers at the scientist’s choice of the _Strawberry Stormcake._ Not that the archer has any right to judge, because Tony sees how fast he snatches up the Black Widow Cherry, even though the red-head chooses Stark Raving Hazelnuts over the Bullseye Brownie. Which is how Tony ends up with Captain Americone, making some gleefully immature mind part of his mind point out he’s basically eating Steve Rogers. And while Captain Righteous makes him want to punch him in perfect teeth sometimes, he can also admit that when Roger’s can take a step off his high horse he has his charms. In addition to being quite literally a perfect human specimen, he might add. So, yeah, you could say if Tony was given the chance he would _eat him up_.

He’s pulled out of his supersoldier musings when Thor shakes Bruce from where they’re sharing the loveseat and booms, “Friend, Bruce. Natasha was quite astute in her choice of electronic theater. This Mark Ruffaloson is very fair indeed! Why I might mistake you for twins!” Bruce just kinda blinks at that, shrugs noncommittally and Tony is starting to feel like he’s an ancillary character in a Harlequin romance with all the goddamn blushing in the room. At this point, it’s only a matter of time before someone’s bodice gets ripped and he’s hoping for sooner rather than later.

They all watch the rom-com in companionable silence, Bruce occasionally pointing out medical inaccuracies and Tony snarking at particularly bad lines of cheesy early 2000’s dialogue. An hour in Bruce nods off, head lolling on Thor’s shoulder as the demigod gives him a soft, secret smile. Barton lets out a soft snore from Natasha’s lap and Tony rolls his eyes. His teammates are all sleeping on the couch like a bunch of kids at a sleepover. Instead of waking them up to go to their own beds, he pulls his blanket tight as he stretches languid and cat like on the sofa. His eyes flutter closed as he thinks he should go back to his own bed at least. He’s too old for sleepovers, though now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure he’s ever actually had a sleepover except in the most adult sense of the word. Instead of moving, he gives one last glance to the loveseat where Thor spreads out across the small couch and then shifts Bruce to hold him against his chest and the god’s eyes shut tight as the scientist lets out a soft sigh against the Mjolnir shirt.

Sleep starts pulling him under and for the first time in a while he doesn’t even think about the nightmares that might haunt him tonight. Instead, he gives a small smile to the two men curled up on the loveseat and the spies spooning on the couch.

He doesn’t fear dreams about wormholes or icy water or electric whips.

Instead, he feels warm and safe and much too full of ice cream.  He smiles to himself as he falls asleep; nothing for a broken heart like friends and ice cream.

**************

When Steve finally shows up it’s only five days after their impromptu sleepover (though Thor has been in much better spirits the last couple days, if Tony does say so himself).

It’s an hour that Tony that can’t decisively classify as either early or late.  Regardless, the engineer hunches over his workbench designing new explosive arrows for Clint. But at this point, it’s been 36 hours without sleep and he’s rubbing at his eyes as blueprints blur together in front of him. He blinks at the hologram for a moment and when one of the equations he’s scribbled on the corner of his notes starts to look more like hieroglyphics than actual numbers, he decides that coffee’s in order. One cup of coffee and then he can finish these arrows. Maybe if he’s lucky he can fall asleep without dreaming about suffocating in gold-titanium alloy as he drifts eternally through foreign stars.

So he makes his way up the elevator to the common room kitchen groggily, scrubbing at his face to try and wake up. He does have coffee in his workshop, but DUM-E had decided to douse his Sumatra in motor oil yesterday morning so he decides he’d rather make the trip upstairs than possibly be the first person to die at the hands of an AI with the intelligence of toddler.

  
He doesn’t turn on the lights when he makes his way into the kitchen, just sets about making a pot of coffee, eyes drooping closed as he shuffles around in the dark. He doesn’t notice the man sitting at the kitchen table in the dark until he clears his throat softly.

“Shit!” Tony jumps and swivels around, grabbing the first thing he finds on the counter to use as a weapon and brandishing it defensively in front of him.

The figure just lifts both hands above his head and chuckles.

“Easy there, Stark. While I don’t doubt you could find a way to kill a man with a ladle, I’d really rather not have to go the infirmary because my own teammate beat me with a big spoon.” Tony glances down at the weapon he’d grabbed which is… sure enough a ladle. He sighs and puts it down on the counter, then lets himself crack an easy grin.

  
“Jesus, Rogers you can’t go around lurking in my kitchen like that. I’ve got a heart condition you know.” Tony’s eyes slowly adjust to the dim light of the city filtering into the kitchen and as he squints into the darkness he can make out the familiar form of Steve Rogers at his kitchen table, sitting somewhat hunched over the surface.

He swears he sees Steve make a guilty expression in the dark, but the coffee maker lets out a soft beep letting him know it’s ready and he turns to make himself a cup.

  
“Sorry, Shellhead. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmurs softly and the engineer can swear the other man sounds sad. It seems to be making a pattern, sad grown-ass men showing up in his kitchen at insane hours. He sighs to himself and grabs a second mug, filling it to the brim and making his way over to the table.

He slides the coffee across to Steve who’s sitting with his head in his hands and he looks up surprised when Tony pushes the mug in his direction. He smiles softly, fond, and it’s an expression the engineer’s never seen on him before and he thinks about how nice it looks on the other man’s face. The supersoldier takes a sip and sighs contently, “Thanks, Stark.”

  
Tony just nods, taking a too-hot gulp of his own coffee and clears his throat. “So what are you doing here at-” he glances at the clock on the stove, “five a.m.?”

Steve turns a little pink at that, “Sorry, didn’t realize it was so early. Serum makes it hard to sleep sometimes.” He shrugs a little, embarrassed. “I can come back later if you want.”

Tony just rolls his eyes. “Well Barton showed up drunk at 3 a.m. and ate all my PopTarts so this is considerably better. I’m not gonna make you leave just to make you haul your ass back through Manhattan traffic later.”

Steve chuckles at that and gives the engineer a grateful half-smile. “That does sound like Clint.”

“You have no idea, Cap. Barton’s a menace. I’m pretty sure he has a literal nest in the vents and every time I hunt him down to tell him he’s gonna start a fire he’s mysteriously missing. Probably in the vents.” Steve laughs fuller at that, the sound clear and loud in the early morning quiet. “But really, Capsicle. What brings you here?”

Rogers pauses for a moment and lets out a weary sigh before answering. “After SHIELD fell, I went looking for Bucky. I looked everywhere, every old HYDRA base, every old Soviet safehouse. I followed every lead and I just-,” he pauses and clears his throat, “I can’t find him. He’s just gone and I’ve been here in New York the last week, just kind of-” he waves his arms vaguely. “I’m out of ideas and I need to find him, I have to because I didn’t before and I’ll regret that for the rest of my life and I- I have to fix this. I have to make all this up to him and if I can’t even find him, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” He slumps in his chair, curling both hands around the heat of his mug as his face falls into a bone-weary expression of defeat. “I’ve turned over every stone and he’s just gone, and I don’t have anywhere to go home to anymore so…” he shrugs, “I came here. Way too early, apparently.”

They’re not exactly friends yet, even though Steve has apologized for the fight on the Helicarrier a couple times since. But Tony can’t stop himself from bringing up a comforting hand to the supersoldier’s shoulder reassuringly. Steve glances up a little surprised, before he gives Tony a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’ll find him, Steve. I know you will,” he says it to comfort him, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe it. “I can ask JARVIS to help out if you’d like. He can’t punch HYDRA dickheads quite like you can, but he does have access to a possibly illegal amount of satellites.” At that, the tightness goes out of Steve’s smile and morphs into something more relaxed and true.

  
“That would be great! I mean-,” he tampers his enthusiasm somewhat, seemingly remembering his forties’ manners, “If it’s not too much trouble. That would be real swell of you, Tony.” His smile’s still soft and sweet, like the one from before when he’d seemed surprised Tony would make him coffee. The soft pink bow of his lips and the flash of perfect white teeth in the dark makes something in the engineer’s stomach do a flip.

Tony pulls his hand back and clears his throat (because he’s suddenly feeling hot and he’s starting to think he probably looks as pink as Bruce when Thor calls him ‘fair’). “It’s not a problem. JARVIS is already programmed to search the globe for any signs of enhanced individuals. It shouldn’t be a problem to tweak the algorithm to search for a cybernetically enhanced supersoldier. They tend to get noticed eventually.”

Tony’s not expecting the hug that Steve leans across the table to snatch him up in and he lets out a soft _oomph_ as he bumps into his mug, coffee sloshing down his shirt. Steve doesn’t seem to notice though, just clings to him tight and the genius is starting to suspect SHIELD agents must be goddamn touch-starved because they sure seem to hug him a lot.

He awkwardly brings up his arms to return the embrace ignoring how Steve’s squeezing the air out his lungs because- well, it’s nice. Steve smells good, like aftershave and soap and something distinctly _Steve_ and Tony thinks he wouldn’t mind if this became a regular occurence.

Then Steve pulls back, settles back into his chair and Tony sees him turn an embarrassed shade of scarlet as he notices the coffee staining Tony’s shirt.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, Tony!” He snatches up a pile of napkins from the table and leans over the table to dab futilely at the engineer’s shift. He scrunches up his face when he just rubs the coffee into the motor oil embedded in his shift and forms one big messy stain down the front. “Oh geez…” he murmurs, an embarrassed flush staining up his cheeks as he scrubs at the back of his neck.

Tony just laughs at the other man, Steve can be so… well, _adorable_ if he’s being completely honest. “It’s fine, Steve. I think I can afford a new shirt.” He gently pushes the hand away and yanks his shirt off because it’s soaked down the front and sticking to him wetly in a way that makes him shiver. He tosses it away and grabs the discarded napkins to dry up the cool damp on his belly. He tosses them away when he’s sure he’s clean and looks up to meet Steve’s eyes.

The supersoldier is blatantly staring, eyes transfixed on his bare chest, miles of toned olive skin gleaming in the pale moonlight. Tony squirms a bit, uncomfortable under his gaze. He hasn’t exactly been eager to take off his shirt since Afghanistan. Before it was the way they would always stare at the arc reactor, eyes wide and curious, questioning. Now, he’s all too aware of the heavy scar streaking up his sternum with tendrils of scar tissue curling across his pectorals. The scar’s worth it, to have the arc reactor out of his chest. He doesn’t dream of shrapnel creeping into his arteries while he sleeps anymore and the foreign metal doesn’t weight down his chest, stealing his breath when the air goes cold in winter. But Steve’s staring in the moonlight and he feels unfamiliar self-consciousness surge up, choking in his chest.

He shifts in his seat awkwardly, suddenly feeling exposed in the early-morning dark and clears his throat. “Yeah, I know…” he starts softly, rubbing a nervous hand through his hair, “It’s not pretty to look at. The original surgeon was a good guy but he didn’t exactly have state of the art facilities so…” he clears his throat again, “Hopefully, the Frankenstein look is all the rage next season.”

  
“No.” He looks up in shock from where his gaze has been slipping shamefacedly towards the floor and Steve has a stubborn set to his jaw. The soldier catches himself, turns his voice soft and low before he starts again. “That’s not true, Tony.” He gets up from his chair and makes the couple steps to where Tony’s sitting before crouching down so they’re at eye level. He lifts a hand and it wavers in the air slightly before he sets it firm on the engineer’s knee. “Did that hurt?” he asks softly, gaze raking down Tony's chest and settling on the scars with a new expression the genius has never seen before. It’s not pity or probing or judgement. Just quiet curiosity and patient waiting and normally Tony would just tell him to fuck off, but-. Steve’s just waiting there, so close, the warmth of his touch burning through his jeans and his expression isn’t demanding. Just offering.

So the truth falls out of him. Too much, too honest and raw, but he can’t stop it through the exhausted early morning haze of his brain when his lips fall open.

“Yeah, it- it hurt like…” he sighs, tries to find the words and decides there aren’t any to describe those jagged glass memories of saws in his chest, “It hurt like someone was tearing me apart from the inside. I thought-” he gulps, “I thought they were tearing my heart out, at first, and I couldn’t even breathe enough to scream.  And- well, it never stopped hurting. The reactor it- I designed it over and over again, but it always hurt, hurt my lungs and my chest and my ribs and I thought the pain would go away when it was out, but-” he lets out a harsh breath and presses an unsteady hand to the mottled scar tissue painting his sternum, “I still feel it sometimes. And I know it’s not real, it’s just in my head, but I feel it, like I can’t breathe again, like, like- they’re tearing me open again. I let them take it out.  I never wanted to be in an operating room again- but, I let them take it out.  And I thought the pain would go away, but it didn’t. And now instead of a medical technological marvel in my chest, I’ve just got all this ugliness ruining Adonis-like chest.”

  
He ends the confession with a joke, trying to hide the wetness tingeing his voice, but Steve doesn’t respond. Instead, he squeezes Tony’s knee in one hand, comforting, and lifts the other to press a wide strong hand over where Tony’s fingers are running over the scar tissue.

“I think it’s beautiful,” he says and Tony’s head snaps up to meet his gaze.

He lets out a laugh, the sound disbelieving and wet at the edges. But Steve just shakes his head and presses his hand tighter, fingers twining with the engineer’s to rest gentle against the scarred flesh. “Your scars are beautiful, Tony. Just like the rest of you, but even more so,” he lifts his hand from the engineer’s knee, to press it against his cheek and Tony blames his sleep-muffled mind for the way he leans into the touch. “Because you survived. You survived all that, you lived through that pain and you just got stronger. You looked in the face of evil and you didn’t run. And, trust me, I’ve seen it my whole life; most men they face that evil, they stare it down and they run for the hills. But, you-” he pauses, eyes twinkling in the dark with earnestness, “you built yourself an armor and you fought. You fought like hell, so no one else would ever have to face it again. And that’s what those scars are. All your strength. All your bravery and your fight. Everything that makes you a hero, painted on your skin. I saw it when you flew through that portal and I see it now. And that’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, Tony.”

He finishes his speech a little out of breath and Tony fights down the urge to crack a joke to break the tension in the dark of the room. He doesn’t know if he could do it convincingly though, he’s blinking fast against hotness in his eyes. So instead, he steadies himself and gives Steve a shaky smile.

“I’m not sure I believe you soldier. But, thanks that- that means a lot.” Steve just shoots him a winning smile and squeezes the hand still twined over Tony’s heart before he pulls back and stands.

  
“That’s alright, Shellhead. I’ll just have to keep telling you until it sinks into that thick head of yours.”

Tony laughs at that and it’s clear and loud, honest. “I don’t know if anyone’s warned you yet, but it’s basically impossible to get something through my thick skull.”

Steve just smirks at him and shrugs, “That’s alright. I’ll have plenty of time to convince you while we’re looking for Bucky.”

And Tony likes that. The promise of more time with Steve in the warm sanctuary of his lab. So he shakes his head and smiles.

The sun’s starting to come up, painting the sky soft pinks and tangerines with the first stained glass light of morning. It lights up Steve’s face, settling a halo of golden light through the floss of his hair and Tony feels his breathe freeze in his chest for a moment before he catches himself.

“How about some breakfast, Winghead? Nat and Thor are early risers and, I’ve got to tell you, Thor’s a monster without his morning PopTarts.”

The soldier chuckles and scolds him about proper diet for a growing team--Tony can’t suppress his eye roll, as if those giants need to grow even more--but, acquiesces to a healthier option.  
Which is how the team finds them, an hour later, Tony gleefully lobbing eggs at  Steve as the captain returns fire with tomatoes.

It’s an hour later that Tony gives up on cooking breakfast ever again, because everyone’s giggling and dripping breakfast condiments all over his floor and Steve’s scolding him about wasting food with a twinkle in his eye.  So he smiles and orders waffles and when they all trudge into the common room, freshly showered and dressed in clean pajamas for breakfast, it’s declared a lazy day for the sake of Steve bonding time.

That first day is blissful, Tony thinks, pressed too close to Steve on the couch as they marathon Star Wars.

And no one would blame him for the way he smiles as he falls asleep that night, replaying the earnest blue of Steve’s eyes as he called him beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be real, this story was supposed to be a short song!fic, but accidentally turned into some overly long saga of Tony!Whump.  
> While the original idea turned out differently, I kept the chapter titles from the song "Stay Awake" by London Grammar.
> 
> Just a warning, please heed all tags and warnings. My last goal is to trigger anyone on accident.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism, comments, and questions are enthusiastically encouraged! If you have any questions or just want to chat shoot me an email at omniscientphoenix@gmail.com or drop in on my Tumblr @doctorlissalou.


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